


Sure, I love sushi.

by NataliaRizzari



Series: SEX.  no plot. One-shot [4]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Lifestyles, Bottom Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Cunnilingus, Eve use Villanelle as a fuck buddy, F/F, Freeform, Just Sex, Oral Sex, Soft Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villanelle ghosted, Villanelle is not a killer, Villanelle steals as a Hobby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NataliaRizzari/pseuds/NataliaRizzari
Summary: Eve and Villanelle No plot just sex. Alternative UniverseVillanelle is a rich girl who steals whatever she needs because she wants attention. She enter at Eve's house and they end up having sex.No plot. Just sex :)
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: SEX.  no plot. One-shot [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971370
Kudos: 22





	Sure, I love sushi.

I curse myself as I shove my way deeper between the musty coats. I’ve never been a stupid criminal. I don’t need it. My father Konstantin leaves everything in my hands and I have money.

Maybe I liked a little risk. It just came over me, really. I was supposed to do something different with my time.

Instead, I drove to a distant suburb and wriggled into my workout pants, and took myself for a late-night jog. I circled a block a few times, looking in on a house that had an empty carport and no signs of flickering light inside the dark rooms. No dog shit either. 

It had been a good call, too. I pawed through the jewelry box and zipped the nicest pieces into the pockets of my fleece jacket. I found three watches and attached them to my own wrist, hidden beneath my sweatshirt. I even found some small pieces of Swedish crystal. I was halfway out the kitchen window when I told myself to do one last scan of the house, one last go-through. I was feeling lucky. It was then that I heard footsteps on the front walk and a metallic jiggling in the lock. I stand in the musty closet, hating myself for being so stupid.

I should’ve run for it. So what if this homeowner saw me disappearing out the back window? They wouldn’t have seen enough to give a good description, and surely they wouldn’t be able to outrun me. Still, though. In order to really escape, I would have to squeeze through a tight window and then vault a fence that had taken some time to conquer the first time around.

Maybe I’m better off this way. Maybe I can shrink far enough into the corner of this shallow closet and make a run for it when this woman goes to bed? I am holding my breath, flattening myself as much as possible, and wondering if I can myself into invisibility when I hear a new sound. It’s not the sound of a 

woman entering her home or opening the closet. Before her front door can fully close, I hear a thud and cry. Then the unmistakable blow of a body hitting the floor. Through the slats in the closet door, I see the woman on the floor and a man on top of her wearing a ski mask. He claws for her neck as her hands go first for his face, and then for the inside of her coat. Her assailant slaps her, then grabs both of her wrists in one fist while he chokes her with the other. 

I am too stunned to believe what I’m seeing. One of her hands gets loose. She reaches inside of her coat, but the man’s grip is tightening on her throat. Her lips look blue and I know she hasn’t got much time. That’s when the remorse hits, existential and bone-deep, for everything I’ve ever done. That’s when I know I have no choice but to take a dive.

I scan the closet, searching for anything I can use on this guy. There’s nothing but wire hangers and old running shoes, and as the woman gasps for breath, I real ze that I have to use the weapon I’ve got: my body. 

I kick the door open and take a swing at the assailant’s head. He topples off the woman, momentarily stunned. I pull my leg back, winding up for a good kick when I don’t realize it until I wheel around and realize that this assault victim isn’t on the floor catching her breath or looking up at me with misty-eyed gratitude.

Instead, she’s holding a Glock that’s trained on my chest. “Easy, now,” she growls at me. Her eyes are staring at me and piercing. Her gun is steady. “don’t do anything stupid,” she murmurs.

“Why don’t you go ahead and close that front door? Then get on your knees.” 

“Listen, I don’t know what you think this is,” I start as I close the door, “but I can assure you —” 

“Save it. Get on your knees,” she says, her voice rough and fierce. We stay like that for at least a full minute, me on the ground and her holding the gun.

I get the sense that she’s trying to figure it all out. “Listen…” I say, “I promise I’m not here to hurt you.” I swallow the gigantic lump in my throat and then say the words that I’ve never said aloud to anyone before. “I’m just can't stop myself from stealing things,”

. “I’m not armed or anything. I don’t want to hurt you.

She looks me up and down, her eyes crackling with suspicion. 

“Let me show you,” I say, starting to move. Her arms stiffen. She frowns at me. “

Alright… slowly now,” she mutters.

I pull pack my right sleeve and reveal the three watches. I unzip my pockets and let loose a cascade of crystal and gold chains. 

“How did you get in?” she asks. “One of the windows in your kitchen is unlocked,” I say. 

She blinks as if she cannot believe her own error. “Have you been watching me?” she asks.

“You plan this?” 

No,” I say, shaking my head vigorously. “I never stake out a place. This urgent happens so randomly…

Mm-hmm,” she murmurs. “Take off your jacket.

I want to see what else you took.” 

“There’s nothing else, I promise,”

. “I’ll see for myself, thanks,” she snaps back at me.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you completely.” 

I drop my fleece and take off my sweatshirt. All that’s left is my thin T-shirt, clinging to my sweaty body, and yoga pants. 

Nowhere to hide anything. She’s looking me up and down, and even though I can see the wariness glinting in her black eyes, there’s something else in there too. I think this woman enjoys looking at me. 

I hazard a smile. “So what do you think?” I ask.

“Can I leave?” She lets out a bark of laughter. “Hell no, you can’t leave,” she says. “Not yet any- way.” A smile curls across her soft lips. “I’ll make you a deal,” she says. “You tell me about your profession, and I’ll let you go. Eventually.” 

“I'm, just a true-crime junkie of sorts,” she says with a sneer. 

I’m not sure what to make of the situation, but I can tell from her Glock and her death grip that I don’t have a choice. She asks me question after question:. Something in her eyes.

I hold her gaze the entire time. Maybe I’m trying to let her know how earnest I can be. Maybe I think that she won’t pull the trigger if I can remind her of my humanity. But as I look at her, I realize just how much my gaze wants to linger in places other than her eyes. I have to stop myself from letting my stare wander to, the curve of her neck, the lines in her legs. When we’re good and done, she asks for my wallet and snaps a photo of my ID.

She tosses it back to me and, at last, lets her gun droop. “Well, Oksana Atsankova,” she says to me. “

I’m letting you go. I suppose you did, after all, help me out of a tight spot. We watch each other for a moment and I realize that I’m actually a little disappointed to leave her. “

Well?” she says, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Aren’t you going to embrace your freedom?”

“Really, no gun. You’re a free woman… or as free as you ever were, at least,” she murmurs. 

I don’t know what’s come over me. Suddenly the blood is pounding in my chest, and it’s as if the break-in high is revving up all over again.

A new energy moves around in my body, making me feel very sensitive.

Maybe I should make a run for it. But I want that next high, and as I said, I’m feeling lucky tonight. At least, before the whole getting-caught fiasco. 

“There’s something else that you want from me, isn’t there?” the woman whispers. 

I nod slowly. She takes a step closer, then another, then another, until she’s just close enough to run her finger on my face. A shiver moves up my body as she greedily reaches up to her shirt, her breasts in the palms of my hands. Her fingers go back to tickling my thighs and I gasp. _How long has it been since someone has touched me this way_ fingers caress me. She pulls back and I exhale. “

You are free to go,” she murmurs. “I won’t call the cops… I promise.” 

I lean forward, my lips landing on her earlobe. “I want you to touch me,” I whisper. 

As soon as the words have left my mouth, her hands are on my hips, bringing my body against hers with a pleasant firmness. Does she run her hands over my body, and I _?_

She holds her fingers to my mouth. I lick them and spread my legs a little wider so her hand can reach inside my pants. Her wet fingertips land on my clit, and the pulsing in my body gets even stronger. My vision blurs as she slides inside of me.

I tighten my grip on her shoulder, holding on as she fucks me. She’s about to hit my G-spot when she pulls out, and I gasp. 

“Don’t be selfish,” she whispers, her eyebrow raised. I tug at her zipper. When my fingers find her wetness, she eases back inside of me. I can feel her body stiffen against mine, can hear her breath as it gets ragged in her chest. 

I want to hold back, want to make it last as long as possible, but then I feel this woman’s breath on my neck and my body starts to shake. I can’t step back from this, and in just moments, her fingers bring a surge of intensity that makes me cry out.

She pushes as deep as she can, and my legs tremble. My breath stops as I peak. She lets me catch my breath before going back for more, using her fingertips to keep teasing me. This time she comes with me, her body getting wetter with every thrust. It’s not until we’re finished that I realize how fast it’s gone.

In the moment, her touch was a delightful eternity, but now we step apart, perhaps aware of how strange we are to each other, perhaps unnerved by how our shared recklessness got us both off. I pull my pants back up and reach for my jacket. As I’m leaving, the stranger calls my name. 

“Oksana she says, “I’d better not see you again. Not in my home, not anywhere.” 

You are not going to give me your name at least?

She looks at some tickets over her table and says:

I am Talulah

Her mouth, which was gasping from my touch just moments earlier, has become a thin, stern line. I turn away without a word and run for it. 

When I get inside my car that night and floor the gas pedal, I have no intention of seeing that woman again. I even tell myself I’m giving up the game for good. All the pleasure of our little interlude had been topped off with a threat.

This woman didn’t care if I was willing to save her. I sprinted all the way to my apartment, forgetting that I’d left my car in another neighborhood. When I finally get there, I was breathless and sweaty, and not for sexy reasons.

Two days later I got a text from an unknown number.

I am Eve. I didn’t thank you for taking the risk that night and try to save me. I was over-excited.

I told you I'm not a criminal.

You're so gorgeous. I like you Oksana.

Save my number as Villanelle.

Ok. Why?

I prefer that name.

Ok, Villanelle. I will like to invite dinner. To thank you in person.

Well. After what we did, it sounds right. A thank you is it not necessary but I really want to see you in a more conventional situation.

And I am the one who is inviting you. Do you like sushi?

Sure, I love sushi.


End file.
